Deafening Whispers
by noorwrites
Summary: "What are you going to do, Grace…?" He whispered in a quiet, smooth whisper. It seeped into her brain, consuming her thoughts, echoing, so loud, yet so soft. "I'm gonna claim it." She said in realization as she locked gazes with the man again. He put a single finger of his round nose and pointed another at Grace. "Bingo." {Lucifer/OC. Sorta} {Oneshot}


_***I don't know why I'm doing oneshots lately, but I kinda like it. So, this one's a Supernatural one. It isn't really romantic or anything, but I didn't want it to be. I kinda wanted to write about how it seems like the devil is sometimes whispering things into your ear giving you ideas, telling you what you want to hear. Also, this takes place in season 5 where Lucifer is still trying to make Sam say yes to him, so you'll see a bit of that. Anyways, I hope you like it. Leave a review if you can, I'd REALLY appreciate it, like, you have no idea. Thanks!***_

Grace followed the ice cubes with her eyes, the slowly melting blocks sliding around in the bottom of her empty glass, only a thin lining of amber liquid left. She sighed and raised the glass to her lips, letting the final drops of whiskey trickle into her mouth. This so wasn't fair, she thought, placing the glass back on to the counter with a clunk.

Then, as she slumped gloomily on her stool, resting her cheek in her palm, a man suddenly came up, occupying the empty stool beside her. She only glanced over at him for a second, but something caught her eye; these spots, scattered across his calm and casual expression. They seemed as if they were seared into his skin, slowly burning it away almost, leaving red blotchy marks. They traced along the side of his tired looking eyes, following into his forehead. Whatever it was that happened to this guy, it looked painful.

"Can I get a whiskey, please?" He asked the bartended, putting his hands in front of him on the table. Then, he glanced over at Grace, his brows puckering sympathetically. "Oh, well in that case, make it two, will you?"

She could feel his eyes on her as the bartended filled two glasses to the brim with whiskey, and pushed them over to the man. He gave the bartended a small smile before taking one of the glasses and sliding it over the counter so that it now sat in front of Grace, ice cubes now floating. "Cheers," he said quietly, taking the other glass into his hand and taking a long sip.

"Thanks," she muttered, forcing her lips into a small smile and wrapping her fingers around her new cup, but not drinking.

"This'll be your…second, third drink this evening?" He asked the blonde, squinting as he looked up at the ceiling, as if counting.

"Fourth…actually," She admitted, slowly nodding her head.

"Fourth? Wow…." He said with a raise of his brows, picking up his glass to take another sip.

"I know…I should go a bit easy, right?" Grace said with a roll of her blue eyes.

The man just shrugged, pouting his lips. "Hey, it's a free judgment zone. I just meant, you're almost more upset than I imagined."

"Oh…." Grace trailed off sadly, looking down into her drink.

"So why, huh?" He propped his elbow up on the counter, resting his head against peeling knuckles. "Why so blue?"

Grace was somewhat taken aback by him in general. The way he sat with head turned to her, giving her undivided attention. His tone, each syllable heavy with sympathy, concern, and he did it all so casually that she felt somewhat close to him, as if they had been friends for a long time.

She tilted her head slightly, her brow creasing in thought as she studied his face. "Have...we met before?"

"We might've, you know, danced once upon a dream." He said indifferently, taking the cup into his free hand, swirling it subtly, the ice clanking against the glass. "I do know a lot of lovely folk like you." He gestured towards her with his glass before bringing it to his lips for another sip. "So, what's eating at you?" He asked, swallowing.

Grace gave a little shrug, directing her gaze back to the wooden surface of the counter, all scratched and stained from the sliding of glasses and spills of liquor. "I guess it's just been a long day." She replied, hoping her vagueness would kill the not so unfamiliar stranger's interest in her; she wasn't really in the mood for talking.

"Tell me about it…" he replied with a shake of his head. He straightened up in his seat and pushed the sleeves of faded grayish-blue jacket higher up his arm, before putting his hands in front of him and interlocking his fingers. "You see there's this guy." He began, despite the fact that Grace hadn't asked.

"Oh, so it's that kinda problem…" She spoke, crossing one leg over the other under the counter.

"Well, not exactly," he corrected her. "You see, I'm a cop, and I've kinda been chasing this guy around for a while now."

"Oh, for what? What he do?" She asked suddenly interested, involuntarily scooting closer to him. It sounded exciting and anything out of her boring country life was enough to steal her attention. She decided, if she was going to have a drink with this guy, then at least he'd be the one talking.

"Oh, seems I've sparked someone's interest." He said with a pleased smirk, pointing a finger at her. The smile came naturally to her lips now. She laughed lightly, tucking a lock of her blonde curls behind her ear. "Well, I can tell you're on the edge of that seat of yours, so I'll continue." He took in a deep breath. "This guy, he's got enough fake ids and stolen credit cards to last him a life time. Not to mention all the breaking and entering, robberies, unlicensed weapons, stolen cars, blah, blah, blah…you get the picture." He said rolling his eyes. "But, in answer to your seemingly simple question, yes, he is technically a criminal, but me, I just see him as human."

Grace raised a brow in confusion. "But you must hate the guy, if you've been tracking him so long?"

"Eh," he shrugged casually, "I can't blame him. I mean, if anything, I think he could do a lot better than just steal things."

"Yeah, like buy his own stuff." She added rhetorically, taking the first sip of her drink, the sharp coldness of the ice sitting against her teeth contrasting with the burning of whiskey as it ran down her throat.

"No, like claim it." The man was just as causal as before, but his eyes spoke in a different tone. They were hard and piercing, his blue ones locking with hers. Grace felt something like fear shooting through her suddenly, though she didn't know where it was coming from, or why it was coming at all.

"Right…." she muttered, trying to draw her eyes away from his, but it was proving difficult.

"Anyways," he said, breaking their intense gaze and turning back to his drink. "I mean, I _know_ I'm gonna get him in the end. But I just wish he'd hurry up and let me _claim_ him already. You ever wanted to claim something?"

Grace thought for a moment, there were a lot of things she wish she could claim. It seemed to so easy, yet so hard…especially now. "Yeah, I actually want to right now." She said a matter-of-factly.

The man scooted his stool closer to her, so that their knees were only inches apart. He wore a pleasant grin, as if he was pleased with her opening up. "Is that so?" He asked, twiddling his thumbs. "What do you wanna claim, huh?"

"My freedom," she blurted out in a state of sudden confidence, "from my dad."

"Tut, tut, tut, daddy troubles," He slowly shook his head, "I know a thing or two."

"Really?" Grace felt hopeful as she turned her body around to face the guy, who she was relating to more and more by the second.

"Sure. See dad was a doctor, and so he thought all his sons, me and my brothers, were gonna be doctors too, but little ol' me wanted to be a cop. So, I told him and he banished me, _all the way down_…" his tone suggested that his sentence had ended, but there was still question marks lingering at the end of his words as he downed the rest of his drink in one final swig. He sighed placing the cup on the counter before looking back over at Grace and realizing her expecting expression, waiting for him to continue. "Oh! Down here, to Texas of course." He said with a little grin.

"Right," she nodded her head a single time, giggling.

"What about you? What do you wanna be?"

Grace thought about it for a moment. She never really wanted to be someone in particular, just… somewhere. "I want to be…not me. I wanna be a girl living in California, with freedom, and fun, and…life." She spoke quickly, the words blurting out of her mouth as is she had been holding them in forever, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders.

"So, what are you gonna do, Gracie?" He asked, slowly nodding his head as that satisfied grin found its way back onto his lips.

She hadn't told him her name yet, and she would've been really freaked out over the fact that he suddenly knew who she was, but it felt like she was under some kind of spell. It was as if every other voice in the room was drowned out, like she was under water, and only the stranger's voice could be heard over the once lively chatter of the bar customers and the country music playing in the back.

"What are you going to do, Grace…?" He whispered in a quiet, smooth whisper that seemed to travel through the heavy air and sneak into her ear. It seeped into her brain, consuming her thoughts, echoing, so loud, yet so soft.

"I'm gonna claim it." She said in realization as she locked gazes with the man again.

He put a single finger of his round nose and pointed another at Grace. "_Bingo_."

Grace smirked, feeling a sudden wave of motivation and inspiration wash over her, and though it seemed to drown her, she liked it. Then, there was a tiny little voice in the back of her head, which tried to break through the stranger's words. Her face dropped and she shook her head. "I can't just leave town, my mother's sick, my dad…his drinking problem."

"Gracie, Gracie, Gracie…" he said, softening his eyes, placing a hand on shoulder, sending chills down her skin. "Forget about it, honey. It's your life."

"They're my family—"

"Shh, shh," he said soothingly, shutting his eyes for a second. "It's _your_ life, Grace."

"But—"

"Think about it. Are you really here because you're sad your mom has terminal cancer or are you here because you feel terrible about yourself?" He asked, cocking his head slightly.

"Huh?"

"You know that deep down inside of that seemingly untainted, white soul of yours," he pointed at her chest, "that you couldn't care less. If money wasn't an option, you would've ditched your dying mother and your wasted dad for those Hollywood hill ages ago."

"That's not true!" She retorted, the fact that he practically knew her life story flying over her head as she broke free of the trance for a second.

"I'm no liar, Gracie. I'm not that kinda guy." He replied calmly, pulling her right back into her daze.

"But…money is an option. I don't have money." The words spilled out of her mouth like vomit, like her deepest darkest thoughts. Why was she talking like this? What was happening?

"Daddy keeps a safe in his closet. You know the code, you've known it for years, but you never told him, just in case you needed some pocket change, right?"

"How do you know—?"

"Shh," he said again, taking her hand into his, gently caressing her skin with his thumb. "You can steal it, Grace. You can get yourself out of here."

She stared at him for a long time, her mouth hanging open slightly, her hand held tightly in his. It sounded so tempting, getting out of Texas, freedom, hot sandy beaches, salty rolling waves; it would be such a change from her small country life.

"What kinda cop are you, telling me that it's okay to steal?" Grace asked, leaning into him slightly.

"Oh, no one said it was okay." He said in defense, raising his free hand in the air. "That doesn't mean you shouldn't do it."

Grace hopped her stool, and laughed through her nose. "You're right…you are _damn _right."

Then, she took her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and made her way through the drinkers and the tables and out of the bar.

Lucifer chuckled to himself as he followed the woman with his eyes; sometimes he wished Sam would be that easy to break. Once she was out of the door, he turned and faced the counter again, resting his stubbly chin in his palm. "Well, that was fun."

…

Grace stood at the bus stop with the other commuters, a bus pass held tightly in her hand, one of the thick rolls of her father's money pressing against the pocket of her skinny jeans, the rest of it zipped up safely in her bag. Whatever happened at the bar last night was strange, for sure. Grace had left there feeling dizzy, confused, lost. The guy had made her feel like she was under some sort of magic, that, or she was just drunk. That didn't explain why he knew her life inside out, or her mother's illness, or about her father's alcoholism, though. The weirdest thing was that Grace went along with it too.

The fact that he knew things about her even she didn't know didn't even faze her at the time. It was only until she had gotten home that she realized something was wrong. Now, every time she thought about him, with those red patches on his face, her skin would crawl. She remembered how her hand had felt in his, so warm, and how, chillingly enough, it fit in his perfectly.

Despite that though, what he had told her seemed to stick somehow, and before she knew it, Grace was pulling hundreds out of her father's safe, packing her bags, and stepping off her small country porch for the last time; she was really going to California!

The bus pulled up to the curb, it's large, dusty wheels screeching; the commuters scrambled to get to the doors as they folded open, but as they each stepped into the bus, Grace heard that tiny little voice creep back into her head, demanding to be heard over the deafening whispers of the man from last night.

Suddenly, images filled the young woman's head; her mother, shedding tears over the daughter who left her to die, her father, drunk and dizzy, driving recklessly down a road, hurting people, hurting himself. Guilt; heavy, nauseating guilt consumed Grace, leaving her foot planted hesitantly on the steps of the bus.

"Hey lady, you coming?" The bus driver called out to her, his hand on the handle, ready to close the door.

Grace gazed down at the ticket in her hands, a war raging on in her mind.


End file.
